


A Coat of Paint

by Doorhandletable



Category: Naruto
Genre: Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Mama Sakura
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:54:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24105502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doorhandletable/pseuds/Doorhandletable
Summary: Sarada wished she looked more like her Mama.
Relationships: Haruno Sakura & Uchiha Sarada, Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke
Comments: 28
Kudos: 253





	A Coat of Paint

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mother's Day 2020.

Mama had always cut Sarada’s hair at home. It was a routine they had gotten used to. Every few months, Mama would sit Sarada down on a stool in the kitchen, give her one of Papa’s old shirts to wear over her clothes, and tell her stories as she cut an inch or so off the ends to ‘keep it neat and tidy’. Afterwards, Mama always took her out for ice cream as a reward.

But, as Sarada had just turned five and was due to start school very soon, Mama had decided that she needed to start having her hair cut by a real hairdresser. So she made an appointment with her own hairdresser, Kushi-san, and promised Sarada that she would still take her out for ice cream afterwards.

As soon as they stepped into the hair salon, a very tall, slim man with a shock of spiky red hair bounded forward to greet them.

“Ah, Kushi-san," Mama said, greeting him. "This is my daughter. Sarada, this is Kushi-san. He’s going to be cutting your hair today. ”

“Such a cute little girl you have, Sakura-san,” Kushi-san said as he bent down to greet Sarada.

Sarada took a step backwards and gripped Mama’s hand.

“Don’t be scared, Sarada,” Mama said gently, giving Sarada’s hand a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry, she’s a little shy,” she said apologetically to Kushi-san.

“How old are you, Sarada?” Kushi-san asked her.

Sarada looked at Mama, who smiled at her reassuringly. She reluctantly let go of Mama’s hand and showed five fingers to Kushi-san. He chuckled and ushered her into one of the big chairs that lined the long wall of sinks. He tied a smock around her neck, removed her glasses, and started combing her hair.

“Just a trim, Kushi-san,” Mama warned. “I want Sarada to look nice for her first day at school.”

“Of course, of course,” Kushi-san said. “I haven’t seen you in a while, Sakura-san. I was starting to get worried.”

“I’ve been busy,” Mama admitted. “What with Sarada and work. I’m going back to full-time when she starts school next week.”

“I was worried you had been seeing another hairdresser,” Kushi-san joked. “But from the length of your hair I can see that my worries were unfounded.”

“It is getting a bit hard to manage,” Mama said. “But I get so many compliments.”

Mama’s hair was light pink. The colour of cherry blossoms, cotton candy, and Sarada’s bedroom walls. It was also very long. Sarada thought she looked a bit like a mermaid. When she wasn’t busy(which was a rare occurrence these days), Mama even let Sarada play with it.

“Of course. You know your hair colour is very popular these days, Sakura-san,” Kushi-san said. “So many women come into my salon asking for your exact shade. But theirs is just a coat of paint, yours is the real deal.”

* * *

Sarada was constantly told how much she looked like her father. Mama told her, Uncle Naruto told her, even strangers on the street told her. She had his black hair, his black eyes, his nose and, according to Mama, his ears.

Perhaps it was wrong of her to think this, but Sarada wished she looked more like Mama. She didn’t remember Papa very well. He had left on an important mission when she was three. She had some memories of him. There were little flashes in her mind of him sitting at the breakfast table, giving her a piggyback ride around the village, and tucking her in late at night. But that was it.

* * *

Sarada cried when Mama left her at school for the first time. She had been away from Mama before, of course. She had gone to pre-school two mornings a week and often went to Grandma and Grandpa’s or to Aunty Ino’s when Mama had to work. But she had never been away from Mama for a whole day. However, Sarada ended up liking school a lot more than she thought she would. She loved learning new things and being with her friends. And Mama was there waiting outside for her when it was over, just as she promised.

At recess on Friday, Sarada told her friend Chocho about how she wished she looked more like Mama. Chocho told Sarada that she heard that sometimes people’s hair colour changed as they got older. Privately, Sarada wondered if this had been the case for Mama. Perhaps Mama’s hair had once been black like hers. Perhaps Sarada would one day have pink hair just like her mother.

She had never seen a picture of Mama when she was her age. The oldest photo Sarada had seen of her Mama was her old team photo with Papa, Uncle Naruto, and Lord Sixth. Mama said that photo had been taken when she was twelve. Maybe there was still time for Sarada’s hair colour to change.

* * *

“Sarada, that’s enough.”

Mama slid the plate of cookies away from Sarada’s outstretched hand, frowning sternly. Sarada pouted and slumped back in her chair.

It was a warm Saturday afternoon and Sarada, Mama, and Grandma were sitting at the small breakfast table in the kitchen, watching Grandpa attempt to fix their sink. Since Papa was away and Mama had no maintenance skills whatsoever, Grandpa often helped out when something was broken or needed installing, and Grandma usually came with him, usually bearing a treat or a new toy for Sarada.

“I made them for her as a reward for doing so well in her first week at school,” Grandma said from the other side of the table. She slid the plate back over to Sarada and beamed down at her. Sarada smiled back at her and reached for another cookie.

Mama pursed her lips and glared at Grandma. Sarada knew that Mama hated it when her parents spoiled Sarada and allowed her to do things that Mama wouldn’t usually approve of. Whenever Mama picked Sarada up from their house and discovered that they had allowed her to spend the whole day eating pastries and watching cartoons, and hadn’t touched the healthy food and colouring books she had packed for her, she would get very mad and spend a long time complaining about it on the phone to Aunty Ino when they got home.

Grandpa had told Sarada once that Grandma had been very strict with Mama when she was little, and that Mama was probably a little resentful that she was much more lenient as a grandmother than she ever was as a mother.

“She can eat the rest of them tomorrow,” Mama said firmly as she stood up from her seat. “Sarada had pancakes for breakfast. She’s had way too much sugar today already.”

Mama picked up the plate of cookies and carried them over to the kitchen counter. She slipped plastic wrap over the top of the plate and placed it on top of the fridge, firmly out of Sarada’s reach.

“She’s my daughter, not yours, Mum,” she continued, sitting back down at the table.

Mama and Grandma started bickering again, so Sarada got up and went over to where Grandpa was bent over the sink.

“Grandpa?” she asked.

“Yes, Sara-chan?” Grandpa said, tearing his attention away from the drain and looking down at her.

“Did Mama always have pink hair?”

“As pink as a cherry blossom, right from the day she was born,” Grandpa answered, smiling wistfully. “That’s why we named her Sakura.”

“Oh.” Sarada’s heart sank. “I heard that sometimes hair colour changes when you get older, I just wondered if-”

“Nothing gets past ya, Sarada,” Grandpa said, and he roared with laughter. “Get it? Pasta salad?”

“Dad,” Mama groaned from the table. “That’s not funny.”

* * *

Soon after Grandma and Grandpa left, the phone rang. Mama ushered Sarada out into the backyard to play so she could complain about Grandma to Aunty Ino.

As Sarada was playing on the lawn with her ball, she noticed the door to the garden shed was ajar. Grandpa must have forgotten to lock the door when he put the tools back. Sarada had never been into the shed before. Mama kept it locked most of the time and had warned Sarada to never go in there.

Unfortunately for Mama, Sarada was a curious child. She left her ball on the lawn, carefully pulled the door open so that it wouldn’t squeak and alert Mama to her misbehaviour, and slipped inside.

The shed was full of rusty old gardening equipment, an old tricycle Sarada had broken when she was three that Grandpa had been promising to repair for two years, a faded red toolbox, and, right next to the door, a big tin of pink paint. It was the same shade of pink as Mama’s hair and the same colour as the walls in her bedroom. Mama had told Sarada that Papa had painted her room back when they first moved into their house when she was a baby. They had specifically chosen the same shade of pink as Mama’s hair so that Sarada would always feel safe in her room.

Sarada suddenly remembered what the hairdresser had said to Mama last week. Something about women painting their hair so that it would look just like Mama’s. An idea hit her. She could use this can of paint to look like Mama too!

Sarada imagined Mama’s face lighting up when she saw her new hair. She pictured them walking down the street together and having people come over to them to tell them how much Sarada looked like Mama, just like they did with Boruto and Uncle Naruto. 

Having made up her mind, Sarada picked up the can of paint and a dusty old paintbrush that was lying near it and slipped out of the shed and back into the house. Mama was still chatting on the phone and Sarada snuck past her quite easily. She made her way up the stairs and locked herself in the bathroom.

The awful chemical smell of the paint hit her nostrils as soon as she opened the can. She took a deep breath and plunged the brush into the thick pink liquid. She lifted it back up and allowed the paint to drip onto the top of scalp. She slid the paint brush up and down her hair, making sure to coat every inch of her black locks with pink.

“Sarada? Where are you?” Mama’s muffled, panicked voice came from outside the door. It sounded as though Mama was running up the stairs.

Sarada felt bad. She hadn’t meant to make Mama worry. She just wanted to surprise her.

“I’m in here, Mama!” Sarada called, unlocking the bathroom door. A few seconds later, Mama came barrelling into the room with such force it almost took the door off its hinges.

“Sarada, you shouldn’t run off like-“

Mama froze. She looked from Sarada to the can of paint sitting by the sink and then back to Sarada. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out.

“Surprise!” Sarada yelled, grinning at Mama. “Now my hair loo-”

Mama ripped the paint brush out of Sarada’s hands and shoved it and the can of paint into the corner. Pink paint spilled out onto the bathroom tiles, but Mama didn’t seem to care. She threw open the cupboard under the sink and pulled out the detachable shower head. She hooked it up to the faucet in the sink and turned back to Sarada.

“Sarada, paint is dangerous,” Mama said, sounding as if she was trying to stop herself from yelling. She shook her head. “Trust my father to leave the shed unlocked. Come on, we need to get this off of you.”

Mama took Sarada’s glasses off and handed her a small towel to put over her eyes. She turned Sarada around and made her lean backwards over the sink. Mama turned the faucet on. Sarada felt the warm water wash over her scalp and she bit her lip, trying not to cry. This was not how she had expected Mama to react.

After what felt like an eternity, Mama finally turned the faucet off. Sarada stood upright, her hair dripping wet, and looked into the sink, which was stained pink.

“What on earth made you do something like this, Sarada?” Mama said, shaking her head as she wrapped a towel around Sarada’s wet hair. “I expected better of you.”

The barriers broke and Sarada felt her eyes fill with tears.

“I wanted my hair to be pink like yours is,” she wailed. “I just wanted to look like you, Mama!”

“You don’t need pink hair to look like me,” Mama said gently, her face softening. “I’m your mother. You already look like me.”

“No, I don’t,” Sarada sobbed. “I look like Papa. Everyone always says so.”

Mama smiled and slipped Sarada’s glasses back on. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and lifted her up so that she could see their reflections in the mirror.

“You do look like your Papa, but your face is rounder like mine,” Mama told her. “And our eyes are the same shape. You have my forehead too, though some would argue that’s not exactly a good thing. Don’t you see?”

“I guess so,” Sarada said, though she was still doubtful. “Whenever I’m out with Chocho and her Mama, people are always telling them how much they look like each other. Same with Boruto and Uncle Naruto. That never happens with us.”

Mama put her down and smiled.

“It’s not a bad thing,” she said. “Looking like your Papa, I mean. He is very handsome.”

“I don’t really remember him, Mama,” Sarada admitted.

“Well, I like that you look so much like your Papa,” Mama told her. “Every time I miss him, I just look at you and I see him staring right back at me. No matter how far apart we are, the three of us will always be connected.”

Sarada smiled and wiped her eyes with her hands. She had to admit, that did make her feel better.

* * *

On Monday, Mama picked Sarada up from school wearing a large yellow sunhat. When Sarada questioned her about it, Mama just smiled and asked her about her day.

When they got home, Sarada started to make a beeline for the kitchen. Mama usually made her a snack when she got home from school. But, to her surprise, Mama stopped her and instead gestured for her to go upstairs.

“Let’s go into the bathroom, Sarada,” she said. “I have a surprise for you. I wanted you to be the first to see it.”

Sarada followed her mother upstairs and into the bathroom.

“What is it, Mama?” Sarada asked.

She looked eagerly around the bathroom for her surprise. The room looked like it usually did, save for the big pink stain that lingered in the sink.

Mama smiled and removed her hat. Sarada felt her jaw drop.

“Mama, all your hair is gone!”

Mama’s hair had been cut into a neat style that hung just above her shoulders. It strongly resembled Sarada’s own shoulder-length hairstyle.

“It was always getting in the way before,” Mama explained. “I had to keep it in a ponytail just so I could get things done, and it took forever to wash and dry. Now that you’re at school, I’m taking on more hours at the hospital. It’s easier to keep it this length.”

“Oh,” Sarada said, trying to hide her disappointment. She had loved Mama’s long hair.

“Wait, there’s something else I want to show you.”

Mama scooped Sarada into her arms and lifted her up so that she could themselves in the mirror.

“Now we have the same hairstyle,” Mama said. “We look a lot more alike now, don’t we?”

Sarada smiled. They really did. 


End file.
